I set out to run the mad dog today. I want to get in the habit of running that loop. 5.6 is about right for a work day, and it’s just a fun course. But longtime readers will recall I’m not too smart. I should have known that the turn would again be washed out. The mad dog course is on the greenbelt, which serves as a drainage system when it rains. And it has rained.

So I made it to the turnaround only to find a sign that said “Sidewalk closed. Cross here.” Here being into the creek.

What to do? I’m as much of a government sheep as the next guy. Always follow orders blindly. Stop completely at the stop sign in the middle of nowhere when you can see there’s no cars coming for 20 miles. I’ve gone 200 miles out of my way on a 3-mile trip because Google Maps said to. But into the creek? And me without my water wings? I staged an act of Civil Disobedience. I kept going.

The sidewalk was submerged, but not deep. I just took off my shoes, waded across, and then continued barefoot till my feet dried off in the sun.

It was great. The water was cold and I couldn’t feel my toes for a while, but really, isn’t feeling your toes overrated anyhow? Trotting barefoot also made me wonder, what if? But, nah. Marx Brothers seem to be the perfect compromise between Ernie Pook and Hokey Pokey. I totally forget about them during the run, except when I’m carrying them. It was my first river crossing in many moons, even though it was sunny. I feel so trail-runnery. Yes, that’s a word.